Happy Birthday

What I don’t want to tell you,
But want so badly for you to know
Is that you are it for me.
You are the only one, and that’s the way it always has been
And always will be.

Yes, I’ll get married
And I’ll have children of my own
(And yes, I am your own in every sense except biological)
And yes I’ll have some kind of love, or everything you’ve dreamed of
For me or for yourself

But there will never in my life
Come a day
That you are not a part of
In all you’ve been to me.

So forgive me, as this is the first attempt
At a love poem by a downtrodden mercenary
But I get so caught up in the syntax of things
I can hardly bear
To condense all of this into… well, this.

An incompletion
Crammed with the empty spaces of all the words I can’t seem to piece together
To describe
How complete I feel just knowing that you exist.

Happy Birthday.